


Music Speaks

by DoubleOhWh00



Category: Captain America (Movies), Stucky - Fandom
Genre: Bucky Barnes Recovering, Happy Ending, Light Angst, M/M, Minor Original Character(s), Natasha Romanov Is a Good Bro, Not Captain America: Civil War (Movie) Compliant, Pining, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Protective Steve Rogers, Sam Wilson Is a Good Bro, Stucky - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-01
Updated: 2016-08-01
Packaged: 2018-07-28 14:06:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,185
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7643731
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DoubleOhWh00/pseuds/DoubleOhWh00
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Winter Soldier comes home with Steve Rogers. He's not able to be Bucky Barnes yet, but he knows that Steve Rogers is worth trying for. Problem is, Steve's puppy-dog eyes and constant mothering are  shockingly poor ways to promote mental health and recovery.  Natasha decides to take a new approach...</p><p>Where words fail, music speaks.- Hans Christian Anderson</p>
            </blockquote>





	Music Speaks

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first fic, so I'm still figuring out style and how to post things so they flow visually on the screen. Any helpful hints would be appreciated. It is unbeta'd so any mistakes are mine.

Visions of the latest mission flow through Steve's mind as the elevator rushes upward toward home. Blue flashes, searing heat from a Hydra agent's bullet skittering across his thigh and another across his side; Nat and Clint's quick banter as they fought back to back, Clint's explosive tipped arrows causing dust and debris(and just possibly bits of Hydra operatives) to rain down on all of them. Steve knows he was distracted in the field today, his left side had felt depressingly exposed. He is being ridiculous, of course Sam and Natasha and even Tony have his back. But since Bucky has come home, it isn't the same. He feels loss of fighting with a partner more acutely, someone who knows you better than you know yourself. Two halves of a whole. Steve misses fighting that way, and it unbalances him. He is waiting for a man that may never return. Each scene weighs down his shoulders a little more. One of these days he won't be so lucky, it will be more than a graze across the thigh or ribs, or someone else will fall for his mistakes, pay the price for his distraction. Shoulders hunched and blonde head bent, he looks more like a depiction of the god Atlas than Captain America.  Steve Rogers may have the body of a god, but inside he's still just that kid from Brooklyn. His broad shoulders feel like they carry the weight of the world. He wonders how much longer can he keep up the fight. Steve feels the elevator slow for the arrival at his floor and pulls himself up straight. It takes the short walk from the elevator to his apartment door for him to shake off the feeling of despair that clings to him, the mission was successful and he can't bring this shit home to Bucky, can't add another weight to the load.

The door to Captain America’s apartment in the Avengers Tower slides open to reveal the Winter Soldier _(James Buchanan Barnes?..He isn’t Bucky. Not in his mind. Not yet. But he desperately wants to be.)_ holding out a note, head titled back, eyes closed, mouth wide singing at the top of his lungs.

_"Take me for what I aaaaaaAAAAMMMM"_

Steve's mouth falls open and his shield clatters to the shining hardwood floor as the music washes over him and into the hallway. 

_"Who IIIIIIII was meant to be. WHO I WAS MEANT TO BE, and if you give a daammmnn, take me baby or leave ME."_

Bucky's head snaps toward the sound of the shield on the floor, as he cuts off mid-note. Spinning, crouching and reaching for the knife sheathed to his upper thigh in one fluid motion. The sight of Bucky moving as though he is made of molten steel still takes Steve's breath away, like something from a beautifully violent ballet. Seeing that it's only Steve, he stands awkwardly, crimson flushing up his face, cheeks matching the star on his shining arm.

Steve smiles gently, feeling the tension from the mission bleed away at the sound of Bucky's voice,  _ **his**_ voice. Not the dead gravel tone of the Winter Soldier, but the rich warm sound of his best friend's slightly out of tune singing. It has been over 70 years since the last time Bucky's voice had sounded like that. A lifetime ago, and yet for Steve, not so long ago at the same time. 

Before the war, Bucky had made noise constantly. From singing when he was happy, to whistling or humming when he was working. He laughed at his own jokes and read Steve stories when he was too sick or weak to focus his eyes on a page. He was a perpetual state of motion and sound, as though the force of his personality just couldn't be contained inside his body. Instead of sucking the energy out of a room, he amplified it. He had been everything Steve had wanted and wanted to be when it came to interacting with others. Even in Germany, after being rescued from Zola, Bucky had been the heart of their little band of brothers. They followed Captain America, but Bucky had been the glue of the Howling Commandos. He kept everyone's spirits up through sheer force of will and a constant stream of humming and storytelling. He was the bridge from Captain America to Steve Rogers; showing the Howlies that Steve was worth not only following but loving, that he was human too.

The new rigid silence of the Winter Soldier sets Steve's teeth on edge. His unnatural stillness chafing against Steve like a constant raw nerve in his chest. It just wasn't like Bucky, not his Bucky.

 _"You still like turning the music up when I'm not home."_ Steve observes, as straight faced as he can manage. He doesn't want Bucky to think he's making fun of him, his confidence so fragile that Steve is afraid anything could shatter the thin veneer of it Bucky is trying to rebuild. Steve's mouth quirks up though, thinking of the many times he came home to foul looks from his neighbors, the tinny sound of the radio echoing down the hall from the crack under their apartment door.

  
_"Yeah well old Mrs. Rigoni ain't around no more to complain so...'Sides the computer..uh.._ " a look of consternation passes over Bucky's face as he searches for the name _"...Jarvis, said Stark sound proofed the place so I wasn't botherin nobody."_

The thick Brooklyn accent flows so naturally from Bucky's mouth that Steve's heart stutters at the sound of it. On bad days, days where the Winter Soldier is more present, Bucky's voice has a flat or slightly Russian inflection that makes Steve's skin prickle uneasily.

 _"It's fine, Buck."_ Steve says reassuringly. _" I couldn't hear anything in the hall."_

Relief floods Bucky's features and Steve feels a pang knowing his friend had been that concerned about a little noise. He bends to pick up his shield and hangs it on a hook on the wall, then crosses to the kitchen counter angling his body openly toward his friend. Bucky's eyes follow Steve's movements, but his body relaxes. Even the Winter Soldier prefers when Steve is closer to him, easier to read, easier to protect. The music softens to a buzz, no doubt with a little help from the ever-present AI.

  
_"What were you listening to?"_ Steve prompts, wanting to refocus Bucky on what he had so obviously been enjoying before Steve entered.

  
“ _Oh, um..Natalia…The Widow...Nat_ (sometimes it takes Bucky a bit to settle on the correct name in his fractured mind, he had known her so many different ways) _she gave me her iPod, said it might help me find something I like. She mentioned music helped her after she broke away from the Red Room, said it gave her new words for what was going on in her head...And I...I found a list called show tunes and I thought maybe it'd be music from those big band shows you used to like so much.. remember those? On the radio?"_

  
Steve remembers them well. In 1938 he had fallen in love with swing and jazz. Memories of their shoebox apartment in Brooklyn flood through him; trying to get their secondhand(really thirdhand) radio to pick up music without crackling through half the program, Bucky whining " _can't we just turn on the game now?! We'll miss the first pitch!_ " and Steve ignoring him until the last song tapered off; The two of them laughing until their stomaches ached as Bucky tried to teach Steve to dance one cold winter night, Steve not caring how awful he was as long as he was in Bucky's arms; Bucky smoking Luckies out on the fire escape in the middle of summer in his undershirt, suspenders hanging off his shoulders, _"Your lungs are too precious Stevie. I'm fine. I won't melt.."_  , staring up at the hazy sky while listening to Orson Welles' The Mercury Theatre on the Air. While Steve's fingers itched to sketch his friend, wanting to capture the exact feeling of those summer days. Lazy, content..in love...

  
Bucky gazes up at Steve his eyes softened with memories, _"like that fancy club we snuck into on 52nd when I was seeing..."_ He searches for the name.

  
_"Margo, the dancer."_ Steve supplies, eyes crinkling with a wry smile.

That girl had had more curls than brain cells, but she had been crazy for Bucky (they all were). So crazy that she had agreed to sneak Bucky (and Steve by extension) in through the backstage area so they could hear one of Steve's favorite bands play a one-night show. They had hidden in the very back set of curtains, smothered in soft blue velvet, both intoxicated by the adventure. Steve shivers remembering the husk of Bucky's voice in his ear " _One day Stevie, we'll be able come here on our own. Get a proper table._ " His lips had grazed Steve's ear as he finished whispering.

  
_"Yeah, the chorus girl. She had great legs."_ Bucky drawls, leaning in conspiratorially and breaking out into his best playboy smile.

That smile had charmed mothers and inspired fathers to lock up their daughters all across the city. It makes Steve's mouth go dry, pulse thudding in the back of his throat. He gulps and shakes his head to clear the cobwebs of memories.

  
Bucky straightens up. "Well, _that's not what they are at all, but I kinda like 'em anyway….They tell stories.. but ya know with singin…”_ Bucky trails off, embarrassment returning.

Steve can see him begin to close back in on himself, can actually see the Winter Soldier part(because this is how Steve sees him now, two halves of one person) of Bucky returning, watching as he wipes the feelings off his face, reverting to that heart-breaking neutral. It makes panic well inside Steve, that fear that each time Bucky closes himself off, he might never open again. It feels like his lungs have been stuck in a vice, an echo of the asthma he was afflicted with all those years ago. Steve pushes back against the anxiety. Buck is getting better, gradually trading wide-eyed and haunted for cautiously neutral and occasional smiles; and God even those small smiles make Steve feel like he is flying. The best thing he can do now is give Bucky a little space and let him find his way back to feeling relaxed again, as Sam has to constantly remind him.

  
The first weeks after they found Bucky, Steve had wanted to draw out every conversation, dissect every thought or emotion, and cheer every baby step. It had made the team feel uneasy (assassins, demigods, and egotistical billionaires not being known for being deeply in-touch with their emotions) and Bucky feel intensely guilty and slightly homicidal.

Eventually Sam had taken pity on the guy, _"Doesn't mean I like you Barnes."_ , and had pulled Steve aside for a chat. _"You gotta give him some room to breathe man, you're making him feel like he's on an extended episode of Dr. Phil or some shit. He's trying so hard for you, but if his psyche doesn't get rest soon he's gonna stab someone...like me.. Relax man, it's going to take time. But you were right Steve, he **is** the kind you save." _

  
With that in mind, Steve reaches to place his hand on Bucky's shoulder and sighs _"I'm gonna clean up. You keep the music as loud as you want Buck. I don't mind."_  He notices with pleasure that Bucky leans minutely into the contact, the edges of Bucky's hair brushing the tops of his knuckles. Steve squeezes his friend's shoulder with reassurance and walks slowly down the hall towards the shared bathroom.

He closes the bathroom door softly behind him, slowly stripping the suit off as the shower heats up, steam beginning to curl around him. The damage isn't too bad, some scorching and rips where the bullets nicked him, the dirt and blood will wash out. He lets his uniform fall to the tile and grins as his serum-enhanced hearing catches a snatch of music through the bathroom door. He steps into the shower and lets the water begin to sluice away the sweat and grime, watching as the rivulets of sooty water run down his stomach and legs.The hot water is restorative. Constant hot water is one of the modern marvels he is most grateful for (the better food is pretty great too). Steve considers his exchange with Bucky, it's such a small thing, but already his soul feels lighter. He shuts the water off and slides down the glass wall, goosebumps breaking out over his skin as his bare ass touches the cold tile. He sits there and listens as Bucky's tentative voice begins to fill the air again. Hope blossoms in his chest, and if tears of relief stream down his cheeks he doesn't wipe them away. Bucky is coming back to him. Everything is going to be just fine.

**Author's Note:**

> To me, music has always been a thing that heals, something to give voice to the feelings and emotions I couldn't verbalize. In my head Bucky feels a bit this way, and his fondness for show tunes comes from his ability to slip into the stories and use them to help him map out his own jumbled sense of emotions and self. This is just one of the one-shot ideas I've had circling around in my head recently. I hope you enjoyed it! It's my first published fic, and my first fic for this fandom. I know I will improve more quickly with encouragement and constructive criticism so any comments and helpful suggestions are appreciated!!
> 
> Check me out on tumbler if you're so inclined, I'm @DoubleOhWh00.


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